Ricochet Through Time (Echo Trilogy Book 3) (12 page)

“And you, as well.” With the sound of quick, confident footsteps, Neffe was gone.

Heru waited for the front door to open and close before speaking to me. “By now, I’m sure Set is well on his way here. We must leave as soon as possible.”

I nodded, surprised by how quickly this was all happening. I’d spent hours yarning my tale, weaving a sense of normalcy when our situation was anything but.

“I’ll fetch you a hot meal and, while you eat, procure you some new clothing.” He started for the doorway, retrieving a black bowler hat hanging from the corner of one of the chairs, then paused. “Women’s clothing is difficult to track down out here . . .”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’d prefer to wear something like what Neffe has on, anyway.”

“As you say. Can you ride?”

I bunched up my shoulders until they were near my ears. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when purchasing your horse.” He unsheathed a dagger fastened to his belt and handed it to me. “In case there’s any trouble while I’m gone.” When I nodded, he turned and passed through the doorway.

“Wait!” I stood and followed after him. “I have money.” I touched the drawstring purse hanging from my belt loop.

Heru glanced down at the small leather bag. “Is it gold?”

“Yes, eagles. I have plenty to pay for—”

He raised a hand, waving away my offer. “Hold onto your coin purse. Gold is valued in almost any time period and may very well save your life, down the road.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Alexandra, I have more than enough to fund our flight. Save your money for a time when it is a necessity, not merely a convenience.”

“Alright.” I lowered my hand.

“That’s settled, then. Remain here. I’ll return shortly.” And then he passed through the front door and was gone.

I returned to my chair and sat, tapping the fingernails of my right hand on the table while I waited. Time seemed to have slowed, stretching out each minute until they felt like miserably long hours. After only a couple of minutes—so said my phone—I powered it off. Otherwise, I’d just keep checking the clock. At least this way I could preserve the battery a little longer.

I started when someone knocked on the front door, jumping to my feet as it opened and moving to stand against the wall by the study’s lone doorway. I peeked around the doorframe to see Heru enter the house with a woven picnic-style basket in one hand, its contents covered by a thin linen towel, a small, covered cast-iron pot hanging by a handle in the other hand, and a corked earthenware jug tucked under his arm.

He kicked the door shut and eyed me from the far end of the hallway. “I startled you. Apologies.”

I met him halfway. “I’m just jumpy.”

His lips curved downward the slightest bit. “With good reason.” He allowed me to take the jug when I reached him but nothing else. “When next I return, I’ll knock twice, then once, then twice again, and you’ll know it is I.”

“Thanks.” I felt silly, being so skittish.

Heru led the way back to the study and set the basket on a chair before using his free hand to roll up the maps and tuck them in a tall vase in the nearest corner. “You look like you haven’t had a solid meal for a while, so I brought a little bit of everything the kitchen had.”

Returning to the basket, he pulled back the cloth cover, revealing a small linen-wrapped bundle, an earthenware crock about the size of a mason jar filled with summer berries native to this area—blackberries, salmonberries, blueberries, and tiny little wild strawberries—a trio of miniature crocks containing what looked like butter, honey, and jam, and a small, corked earthenware jug a mere fraction of the size of the one I’d already set on the table. He fished another linen towel from the basket, folded it into a neat square about six inches by six inches, and set it on the table. It was just large enough for the cast-iron pot.

“Mostly, this is what remains from breakfast and midday. We were lucky they’d yet to feed the pigs.” Heru set his hat on the corner of the nearest chair and ran his fingers through his sleek black hair, combing it back from his face. It was so long and shiny and silky looking—the definition of touchable. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “What?”

I blinked. “What,
what
?”

“You are staring at my hair.”

Heat burned in my neck and cheeks. I’d been imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers through those silky black strands while he kissed my neck, along my collarbones, and made his way lower . . .

“I, um . . .” I dropped my gaze to the floor and cleared my throat. “I’ve only ever known you with short hair.”

“Truly?” He touched the ends of his hair, where it brushed one shoulder. “It feels as though I haven’t worn my hair shorter than this for ages.” He laughed through his nose. “I think it’s been a thousand years, maybe longer . . .”

“I could see how shaving it every couple days would be a hassle back in, well, now.”

“A hassle, indeed.” He returned to unloading the basket, setting the linen-wrapped bundle on the table and following up with the tiny jars of condiments. “The biscuits are cold but not yet stale. If they’re too hard, just soak them in the stew and they’ll soften right up. There’s also berries and cream,” he said, unloading the crock and small jug. “And, of course, water.” He uncorked the larger jug, then folded up the linen towel that had lined the basket and placed it on the lid of the cast-iron pot. “Be careful with this. It’s hot.”

I ogled the feast spread out before me. “Thank you. This looks wonderful.”

“The land is abundant in these parts. So untouched . . .” Sadness cast a shadow over his eyes. “Were that this place could stay this way forever.”

“You really love it here, don’t you?”

Heru met my eyes, then looked away, gazing through the nearest window. “I have called many places home, but few have actually felt like it. Here, I feel a sense of belonging I thought lost with Oasis.”

I turned away from him and busied myself by moving things around the table in a fairly random fashion. “I’m sorry about that—what happened. What I did.” I bowed my head. He hadn’t remembered what had truly happened after Nuin died—that I’d unleashed the full power of my borrowed sheut, quite literally bringing the walls down all around us. But he knew now, because I’d told him. “It was our people’s home, and because of me, they’ve been cast out for thousands of years.” My only consolation was that I hadn’t killed everyone at the Oasis in the process of destroying their home.

“Perhaps we will return one day.” Heru rested his hands on my shoulders, and I leaned back against his body, forgetting, just for a moment, that we were in the past. That he wasn’t Marcus. He wouldn’t be Marcus for another one hundred and fifty years. And yet, he would always be the man I loved. The man I’d bound my soul to.

Heru’s arms wrapped around me, crossing over my chest. “I feel as though I’ve held you this way a thousand times, and as though this is the first time I’ve ever held you before. What are you, to be able to make me feel such things?” He’d asked me something very similar once, when walking me home through the snow on our first date.

I smiled at the memory and whispered, “Yours.” My stomach rumbled, and I choked on a laugh. “And also, I’m starving . . .”

“Of course.” Heru’s arms slid off me. “I apologize for keeping you from your meal.” He was gone from the room in an instant.

I followed him back down the hallway. He didn’t leave through the front door, but turned left at the foot of the staircase and entered the dining room beyond.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Gathering what you’ll need to sate your rabid appetite.”

I eyed his broad shoulders as he crouched to search a cupboard in the sideboard, doubting that whatever he found in there would do anything to truly sate my appetite—only he could do that. But
that
was something that wouldn’t happen until I’d returned to my own damn time. Damn it. I’d played this game before. It was no fun, and guaranteed misery and bad tempers all around.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall while I watched Heru rummage.

“Huggins is a terrible housekeeper,” he said, his voice muffled by the cupboard. “Ah—that’ll do well enough, I suppose.” He stood and kneed the cupboard closed, a mismatching china plate and bowl in one hand, a crystal goblet in the other. He transferred the goblet into the bowl and opened the drawer above the cupboard, pulling out a tarnished silver butter knife, a soup spoon, and a three-pronged fork.

He moved back across the room and offered me his findings, which I accepted with a slight clink-clinking. “I trust you can manage from here?” he said, heading for the door. “I should only be an hour, maybe two, and I’ll be within the walls the whole time. If you have need of me, you need only call out my name. Wherever I am, I’ll hear you. You can be certain of that.”

“I’m sure I can manage eating all by myself,” I said dryly.

Hand on the doorknob, Heru glanced back at me, his lips twitching. “One would hope.” He opened the door. “I’ll gather what we need and return straightaway.” And then he was gone.

I saluted him through the door with my small horde of dishes, then headed back to the study to dig in. I was just finishing my second bowl of stew when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I had the oddest sense that I was being watched. I wiped the bottom of the bowl with a piece of biscuit, popped it into my mouth, and stood, doing a cursory scan of all three windows in the study. All appeared empty of peeping faces, showing the placid, idyllic scene of life inside the fort.

Unsettled, I retrieved the knife from the table and moved around the perimeter of the study, examining the books and odds and ends on the shelves between quick glances to this window or that. I was standing behind the desk when I heard the faintest sound of scratching at the front door.

A moment later, the door creaked open—no secret knock.

I gripped the knife tightly, keeping it snug against my leg. I held my breath, hoping that whoever had entered the house wouldn’t realize I was back in the study but would do whatever they’d come in to do and leave. I thought my hopes thin, considering the scent of food that had to be wafting out of the room.

At the first bootfall, I considered scurrying around the desk and hiding underneath. But I dismissed it, thinking that would make too much noise. The wood floors were creaky, and whoever was in the house would know someone was back here . . . assuming the person even cared.

“Mistress . . .”

My heart gave a heavy thud-thump, and I squeezed my eyes shut for the briefest moment.

He cared.

I licked my lips and swallowed, preparing to respond as the sound of several more footsteps drew the intruder nearer. Oh, who was I kidding?
I
was the intruder. For all I knew, this guy was the owner of the house—possibly the Huggins fellow Heru had mentioned while digging through the cupboard.

“Mistress?”

“I’m back here,” I said, voice wobbly. “In the study.”

I was surprised to recognize the man who appeared in the doorway. It was Turlow, the leering rifleman from the lookout at the gate. Dressed in a shabbier version of Heru and Dorman’s attire, he was of average height and build, with shaggy brown hair and a short, scruffy beard. He snagged the hat from his head and wrung it in his hands as he took his first step into the room.

I backed into the desk, keeping my body turned to conceal the knife. “Can I help you with something?”

He took another step, his eyes skimming me from the floor up. I felt the urge to shake off the touch of his gaze. “You sure are pretty . . . real pretty.”

“Thank you,” I said, my tone bland. Head high, I took a few steps toward the table, toward him, hoping the gesture showed some don’t-mess-with-me confidence. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my meal in peace.”

He took another step but halted when I held up my free hand.

“Do you think—” He took a scooting step closer. “It’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve seen a pretty lady—or any lady—and I so do miss the delicate feel of a woman’s skin. May I—could I hold your hand, just for a moment?”

I stared at him, flabbergasted. The request seemed innocent enough, but something about him disturbed me. His mere presence struck a discordance deep within me. “No, I think not.” I sidestepped around the table to put something tangible between us. “Now if that’s all, I’ll bid you good day, sir.” It sounded both period-appropriate and clearly dismissive to me. Stern, but not too harsh.

Apparently my gauge was off, because Turlow hunched over, raised his hands to his face, and started weeping.

Well, crap.
Now I’d gone and made a grown man cry. I pitied him. For about three seconds.

Without warning, he lunged across the table, reaching for my purse and knocking the jug of cream and crock of berries to the floor in the process. I reacted without thinking, swatting his hand to the side and spearing it with the knife.

I stared down in shock.

Turlow’s hand was pinned to the table, the knife sticking straight out of the back of it. He opened his mouth and let out a shriek so harsh and pained that I was forced backward. I stumbled into the bookcase behind me and knocked a shelf free. Leather- and cloth-bound books and assorted trinkets clamored to the floor.

“Alexandra?” The door crashed open. “Alexandra!” Heru rushed into the room, scanned the scene, and struck, knocking out a shrieking Turlow with a single right hook.

The scruffy man dropped to the floor, tugging the knife free of the table on his way down.

“What happened?” Between one breath and the next, Heru stepped over Turlow’s body and crossed the room to me. And my breaths were coming pretty damn fast at that point. “Are you alright?” His hands were on my face, my neck, his eyes scanning all of me that he could see and leaving behind none of that icky, slithery feeling. “Did he hurt you?”

“He—” I shook my head, my eyes locked on the unconscious man just a few feet away. “He tried to rob me.”

“Perhaps he noticed your purse when you first entered the fort.”

I nodded dumbly.

“It will stand out less once you’re outfitted in your new attire.”

Once again, I nodded.

“Alexandra . . .” Heru gave my shoulders a gentle shake. “You are quite pale. Are you truly alright?”

I tore my eyes away from the bloody knife protruding from Turlow’s hand. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll
be
fine.” I pressed my hands against my suddenly churning stomach. The twins hadn’t liked that little bit of excitement one bit. “I just need a moment away from”—I waved one hand at the man on the floor—“this.”

“Yes, of course.” With one hand gripping my elbow, the other wrapped around my shoulders, Heru guided me down the hallway to the sitting room opposite the dining room. He led me to an upholstered armchair and, with a hand on my shoulder, enticed me to sit. “Give me just a moment to handle Turlow, then we’ll be on our way. I have all that we need, save for your mount.”